Midnight Terror
by jrhull
Summary: Edward, enraged and rebellious, decides to leave Carlisle and Esme's ways of life of vegetarian hunting. Exactly who were Edward's victims? EPOV
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Mature audiences only. Violent and graphic scenes. **

**Reviews appreciated.**

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme belong to SM; the victims are mine (and Edward's too, I suppose).**

* * *

EPOV

My mind had never been decided so concretely. I would follow through with it—there was no question. I was a monster. It was time I embraced it; why fight what I am? There was no helping that.

My prey was completely unaware. I had heard his thoughts. I'd been following him the entire day—lurking in the shadows the way a monster ought. He had escaped the judicial system for lack of evidence. They never found the body of the girl he had beaten and raped, a girl who hadn't reached her twelfth birthday. Although they searched his living quarters, there was nothing left. I had no trouble with obtaining evidence; it was etched in his mind, wide open for me to see. I saw his intentions enamored with the idea of repeating his offences. He figured he'd get away with it again, again, and again. I surely couldn't let that happen. Although I was to kill, it was no one innocent, no one who deserved the privilege of walking on this earth. I must stop him from taking away the potential of other righteous beings.

I stalked him as he turned down the last block to his home; this is where he brought back his prey—it's only fitting that I would revisit the scene of his crime, bring the whole experience full circle.

He took his keys from his pocket and reached to the door. In the same moment, with speed only designated for villains of my kind, I raced ahead, leapt to the second storey of the building to a window that his apartment opened to. It was terribly convenient how empty this building was, no one would hear anything. My anger grew with the realization that it was just as convenient for him as well. No one heard the cries of a girl with her wrists tied together, hoisted up over her head to a low hanging rafter as he advanced on her with a gag to place between her lips to keep her sorry tongue from any screaming. I saw his mental image of her nude with the exception of her cotton panties which had become soiled with sweat and blood as it discharged from her body with the lashings of his belt.

He did all that for his own sadistic pleasure. While I had sadistic pleasures of my own, I would not draw this out any longer than was necessary—I had already done so for ten years. I didn't care much for his suffering. I was apathetic to the creature who was unknowingly waiting for my attack. I needed this. I needed his blood—the warm, wet sensation to coat the walls of my throat.

As I waited for him to ascend the stairs, to enter his own tenements, I took a deep inhalation. I desired his scent, letting it sting my throat, making my wanton desire grow and flare to life with even more vigor. My anticipation was growing in voracity as well.

I heard his hand turn the knob of the door. I heard his quickened pulse from climbing the stairs. I saw his face lightly flushed with his small exertion of energy. It was too much.

I couldn't wait any longer. I jumped on him without giving him the time to flick the light switch; he never saw me coming. I went right for the artery in his neck; it pulsed with the most life. As I bit down, the blood cascaded from his jugular entering my mouth, a moment for which I had waited ten years. I did not waste a drop. I sucked his body dry, drinking down every last iota, draining him of his life.

It was over all too quickly. The six quarts of blood that flowed throughout his body was not enough. I wanted more, but, not tonight. I needed to be sure of the guilt of those I stalked. I was sure it wouldn't be too hard to find another guilty person, surely someone around here was guilty of something, but I could wait.

_One Week Earlier_

"Moralize all you might like, Edward, but I don't believe in it." Carlisle's words rang in my ears. He continued in thought, pleading. _We've talked about this_.

We were never able to reach an understanding.

"I've followed your path. I've done what you thought right for ten years." My anger was intensifying. "I'm tired of feeling GUILTY for wanting human blood. This is what I am." My voice was growing louder. "You can't deny that; you made me this way." I threw that in his face, thinking it was a low blow, but no matter.

I could hear the thoughts that accompanied Carlisle's heartbreak at the words I lashed at him. This only caused an increase in the guilt I felt and I immediately stormed off. I wasn't ready to leave yet. I merely left to go hunt mountain lions, to run through the wildlife and release some of the pent up anger. I hated the thought that there was something out there that could satiate my thirst much better than a mountain lion ever could.

I turned to head back to Carlisle and Esme. In a few hours, Carlisle would leave to the house to go to work. I could see the day breaking to the east and Esme would leave the house shortly after him; I knew of her plans to hunt in the morning. I would be able to enter the home and block their thoughts with a book before they left. I wandered back, taking the slow pace equaled to a human run.

After Carlisle brought Esme into our world, we moved to Portland, Maine. The state was practically covered in wilderness, although we had to be careful of hunting too near to the logging businesses that were desecrating the forests. But, Carlisle's preparedness never ceased to amaze me. He was working at the hospital, still doing the profession he loved. Nothing could keep him from that.

I was ending my second round through high school. In all honesty, school was getting easier for me. I had never been an exceptional student. I toed the line of mediocrity in Chicago. But, by 1929, I experienced a decade of sleepless nights giving myself the opportunity to learn things for which I never thought I'd have the time. I frequented Carlisle's bookshelves and would finish a book in a matter of days. Then I would always move onto the next that struck an interest with me. Fiction got tiring after a while and I had moved on to language books. I even had the inclination to learn piano and when I mentioned this, the next day, there was a grand piano in the living room.

My classmates took to avoiding me. They were aware on some primitive level that I was a danger. Due to the size of the school house though, they couldn't get far enough away from me. At times, this made my thirst hard to bear, so I'd begun hunting each week, not allowing my eyes to lose their auburn color.

When I finally reached our home, I entered the door hearing Esme's thoughts. _I'm so glad you're back._ I rolled my eyes. No. I would not listen to this now. I can't deal with more of this guilt they hung over me. I loved them so much, I couldn't bear to hurt them, but I couldn't avoid what I was any longer. I couldn't reconcile the two feelings.

Before I could become distracted enough, I merely heard Carlisle think my name. _Edward—_

I successfully tuned them out. It lasted for just over two hours. It was difficult not listening to their thoughts. I was so attuned to them and it comforted me so to hear the inner workings of their mind. But I wouldn't allow my mind to drift to them. I heard the front door close for the second time—that was Esme leaving. I rose to follow Esme's departure from the house.

I was essentially a selfish creature; I'd do as I pleased.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Mature audiences only. Violent and graphic scenes. **

**Reviews appreciated.**

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme belong to SM; the victims are mine (and Edward's too, I suppose).**

* * *

I was in Buffalo, New York when I made my first kill. Even though I could easily have left the body behind, I decided to dump it into Lake Erie. It was three o'clock in the morning, the prefect dead of night. I climbed to the roof of the building with the drained carcass slung over my right shoulder. I jumped from rooftop to the next, listening for coherent thoughts around me. There were none, only the twisted psyches of those who slept.

In no time at all, I was at the water's edge. I thought for a moment if I ought to swim a ways into the lake or just hurl the body as far as I was capable. I decided on the latter. It didn't matter if anyone found the body, I was moving on—into Canada tonight.

After ridding myself of the body, I moved to the north and decided to swim across the Niagara River into the bordering country. I was relieved when the dry land I met was wilderness. I took the opportunity to hunt the local wildlife. Instantly, I found a caribou. The taste of its blood was nothing in comparison to the man I has just slaughtered, but since my thirst wasn't completely satiated and I feared becoming a real monster, I didn't condescend on the thought too much.

I didn't want to linger too long in the Canadian wilderness before approaching Toronto, it was mere days before I began to enter the city. I wanted to have time to plan and stalk my kill before I became too ravenous for human blood and too enamored with the prospect of getting it so easily. I spent close to three days in the city. It was fairly difficult for me to find someone who had committed any heinous crimes; most were petty criminals.

I was close to moving on westward through Canada when I had the thought to visit a bar in the middle of the afternoon. That would be where the dregs of society spent their time on a Wednesday. I walked in with confidence and took a stool at the bar.

I mustered all the contempt I could, ready to play the part of a drunk, and barely looking and the bar keeper said, "Whiskey."

He nodded in my direction, retrieved the bottle and poured the ochre liquid into the shot glass he placed in front of me. Before he could turn away, I told him, "Leave the bottle."

He complied. I played the part effectively while I took a listen to the handful of thoughts around me.

_Goddamn that bitch. How does she think she can get away with leaving me? She won't be able to get anyone better, that cunt_. He laughed to himself and I lost interest.

After faking my first shot, I took the bottle and poured another. With speed so quick that no one could catch my movements, I emptied the contents of the shot I poured into the sink behind the counter. All it took was the right aim and a flick of my wrist. I took the empty glass to my lips, threw my head back and slammed the glass back on the bar, nearly breaking it. I needed to be more careful. I repeated the process once more before I moved onto the thoughts of the next possible victim who was wallowing in their sorrows.

_I wish that he would forgive me. It's been years since I've seen him. Fuck me. I never should have told him I never wanted to see his face again. It was such a blatant lie. He's my son._

I cringed at that thought. Luckily, my thoughts were mercifully interrupted by a woman who entered the bar. The door opened and she entered with a gust of wind making the other patrons shiver. _I need to CELEBRATE!_ Her mind screamed it and I was immediately intrigued.

Everyone in the bar was looking at her and she knew this. I was even looking at her, she met my eyes. _Mmm…. who is that fine looking man at the bar? It shouldn't be too hard to get keep his attention._

I noticed she was wearing a nurse's uniform—a white shirt dress that didn't cling too tightly to her, but showed off her slender figure, the womanly curve of her waist and hips. She unpinned her cap as she walked forward, letting her copper hair fall to just below her shoulders. She took a second to shake out her hair as she sat on the stool just one over from where I sat. I couldn't believe the spectacle she was making of herself. Did she really think I would be interested?

She looked to the keeper, "I'll have what he's having."

I shot a glance to her letting the corner of my mouth curl into a smile, then looked up to the keeper and beckoned him to bring her a glass. I moved to the seat next to her as I poured her a shot from my bottle, then one for myself. "Edward," I said.

_This is easy. _She thought. _He's already wrapped around my finger._ "Ruth."

No, I just needed to play the part.

I lifted my glass to her and said, "To…"

"Fortune," she finished.

I gently knocked my glass to hers, nodded, and actually drank the shot. How repulsive. I couldn't imagine the enjoyment these people took in drinking, but then I doubted they could imagine the enjoyment I took in drinking blood.

_Look at those eyes. And that smile. He is something else._

"Just get finished with a shift?" I asked, signaling to her uniform. I poured us both another shot. She looked down to herself and crossed her legs in my direction. I took the opportunity of her distraction to evacuate the liquids of the glass without her notice before it met my lips.

"Yes. It's was an overnighter. Those can really do something to ya."

"I don't doubt that. You seem pretty happy though."

_Happy doesn't even cover it. _I poured another shot. She didn't take it right away. _I just nursed—_and she scoffed at the word 'nursed'_—my sick uncle, but he didn't make it. And I'm the only family he had left to inherit his fortune. _

"Tomorrow's my day off." She clarified, before letting too long of a pause pass. She took the third shot. I needed to slow her down a bit.

"That's an occasion to celebrate," I said.

_No, the real celebration is the $350,000_ _I'll be receiving in the next month and all I had to do was give an overdose of morphine. Poor bastard didn't feel a thing._

This was turning out to be quite interesting. She was definitely solidifying as my next victim. I wanted to get more out of her though.

"How long have you been a nurse?" I inquired.

"Just over three years now."

"It must be pretty hard to lose patients. I couldn't imagine having to deal with it."

_Not if you're me._ I got the response I desired. The thoughts flashed through her mind of the patients that she helped kill. Her uncle was not her first victim. She didn't even need the incentive of inheriting a small fortune to take the lives she was supposed to be saving. In an instant, I saw images of men and women, one right after the other, who laid in hospital beds, lifeless. All killed by her own hand. Then all of a sudden, there was an image of a child, two, three. She had no scruples against killing innocent children. That angered me to no end. I made sure she couldn't see the shift of countenance on my face. I continued to play my part nearly as well as she played hers.

"Yes, you're right. I don't like to talk about it." Her eyes shifted from me to the bottle I held in my hand. I poured yet another shot. She really wanted to drink. Was this remorse? Hah, no. I shifted my body, keeping my right elbow on the bar and squared my shoulders to her and looked into her eyes.

"You'll have to forgive me, Ruth. That was very rude of me; I shouldn't have brought it up."

_Listen to that voice. So sweet...and sensual._

She nodded and without breaking eye contact, licked her bottom lip in what she thought was a seductive nature. She didn't realize how impervious I was to her advances. "You're quite young, aren't you?" she asked.

I took this opportunity to advance on her. I lifted my left arm, trailed my finger along her right temple, and drew back the hair to place behind her ear. I broke my eye contact with her and leaned closer to her ear and whispered, "I can be anything you want."

She didn't stand a chance. Her thoughts became muddled and quite filthy as she placed her hand on my thigh, and turned her lips to meet my ear. _Mmm…he smells so good._ She was able to formulate one sentence.

"Let's get out of here."

It was just as she had thought, too easy. I dropped a couple bills on the bar, much more than was necessary and we exited onto the streets of Toronto.

A devilish grin crossed my face as I realized only one of us was going to get what we wanted.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Mature audiences only. Violent and graphic scenes. **

**Reviews appreciated.**

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme belong to SM; the victims are mine (and Edward's too, I suppose).**

* * *

If there was one thing I learned, it was not to get my prey drunk before killing them. It does the most wretched thing to the taste of their blood. Yet it tasted better than my favorite animal. Still, entirely not worth it.

I had spent the past several months wandering through Canada. I went to Quebec and found one of their penitentiaries. I would wait for prisoners to be released and spy on their thoughts seeking out those who were not rehabilitated; those who felt no remorse and the drive to do it again—perhaps using their last experience to learn a lesson: how not to get caught.

I only killed a few people this way. One was an arsonist. He burned his own house to the ground with his wife inside when she was coupling with another man. There was no penitence in his thoughts; he only wanted to do it again, only this time, watch the person burn. He witnessed his house being engulfed in flames and reveled in the screams of his wife and her lover inside. He wanted to chase that feeling.

I didn't let him.

It was time to move on. I had spent enough time in Canada. My last couple weeks were in Windsor, right across the river from Detroit. I decided to swim across. It was a poor decision. I had forgotten how dirty the water would be from the discharge of the factories that lined the river.

The factories at this time were actually running a bit slower than usual. The Stock Market had crashed about two months ago and the world entered the Great Depression. People like Henry Ford had to slow down production of the assembly lines and fired people from the floor of the plants. The city was getting desperate for work. 1930 was not going to be welcomed with celebration, only the desperation of the nation.

I didn't have much interest in the city at the moment. I went down Jefferson Avenue thinking I'd head into Grosse Pointe. I had overheard some thoughts about the suburb and I thought I'd check it out. It was an extremely wealthy suburb—one of the first around Detroit. There were very few occasions of racism in the law system of the North. One exception was the deeds of the houses in Grosse Pointe, they stipulated that the owner of the house could not sell it to a black family.

White northerners were fairly accepting of the black community until it came to the housing and labor markets. Separate but equal. Supposedly.

As I was heading out of the city into Grosse Pointe, I decided to engage in a run. I was extra perceptive to the sounds and voices of people who were potentially near to see.

I slowed to a walk when I saw streetlamps lining the roadway that led into Grosse Pointe. I entered into a neighborhood and began listening to the thoughts of the people inside.

It's past your bedtime, young lady.

You didn't give me what I wanted. I was confused at that thought; it could be taken in a variety of different contexts. I walked up to the house and stealthily peered into the window.

I saw two men sitting in a study together. Their chairs faced each other while they spoke and my gaze hit them perpendicularly. One was older and smaller than the other. The clock on the mantel piece was a steady metronome; the rhythm of the clock gave away the unsteadiness of the young man's heart. I wondered why he was so nervous.

"If you would have killed him like I asked, we wouldn't be in this mess, Jeffrey."

I relished in the idea of how easy it was for me to get what I needed and subsequently, what I wanted.

Jeffrey's mind flashed to the man he was supposed to kill. It wasn't that he had grown a conscience or felt penitent from previous murders he committed, he was looking to defy the orders of the other man: Elmore, his thoughts told me.

This was turning out to be much more interesting than I could have hoped.

Jeffrey remained silent. He didn't let a thought escape his lips, but this meeting was going to turn into a showdown for them. Both had in their minds the same thought of killing the other. They both wanted the control.

I was convinced of their guilt. There was no sense in wasting the blood from either of their bodies if one of them got their way tonight. Rather, I would unite them for one last moment so I could execute plans of my own.

I made the decision impulsively. I broke the window I was staring through. Keeping my mind on their thoughts, I left the window and ran to the closest entrance to the house.

Long after I was gone, Jeffrey and Elmore stood and rushed to the window.

"Damn it, Jeffrey! They knew it was you. They're going to try to finish the job you couldn't."

I can take care of them. But first, I need to take care of you, Jeffrey thought, running through his attack plan in his head.

I reached the study before they had finished investigating the broken window.

"No, let me, Jeffrey." They turned simultaneously. Jeffrey was more confused than Elmore at this point; Did I say that out loud? He thought. A murderous laugh erupted from my lips.

"No." I was thoroughly amused by their confusion. This was…fun—the thrill of the hunt.

"Look, gentlemen," I continued, "neither of you are going to continue doing what it is you're doing. I'm here to put an end to that."

Jeffrey moved to attack me with a large piece of the shattered glass in his hand. I saw the idea formulate in his mind, just as soon as he did. I fended him off with a quick defense maneuver which sent him sliding across the floor.

As Jeffrey slid, the glass he held cut his hand. I immediately caught scent of him bleeding and without thinking of what Elmore would see, I attached myself to Jeffrey's jugular. I couldn't be completely distracted by the sensation of Jeffrey's blood flowing into my body; I had a witness.

I drained Jeffrey's body quickly and slowly stood to meet Elmore's gaze.

"Who the fuck are you?" He demanded. What the fuck is he is?

"I'm not sure that's very important now, Elmore."

"You're a vampire, right? You just sucked all the blood from his body." He was trying to sort out his own words, trying to decide if he believed what he had seen. He did believe it.

"You could make me like you. You can do that, can't you? I can pay you."

How truly vile this man's mind was. He would choose this life, pay for this life. He spent years killing people who couldn't pay the money he loaned them and he still wanted to enter into an eternity of killing.

"I'm not here to create murderers; I'm here to kill them" I hissed at him. I barred my teeth, trying to scare him.

He laughed.

"Isn't it ironic?" he asked. "You've turned into what you think you're ridding the world of. You're no better than I am."

That was his last thought. I couldn't let him talk to me any longer. I killed him the same way that I killed Jeffrey.

He had a marked fate from the beginning. I knew I would kill him and there was no sense in listening to his drivel. He assumed to know me; what did he know? The fool.


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Mature audiences only. Violent and graphic scenes. **

**This is a long one. There are some breaks in it, but they couldn't stand alone as chapters.**

**Reviews appreciated.**

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme belong to SM; the victims are mine (and Edward's too, I suppose).**

* * *

I needed a distraction.

Elmore was wrong. I needed to kill; I needed their blood. He was killing for his own gain, for money. Surely, I was better than that. Of course, I was. The words he spoke to me were the words of a man who knew he was going to die. He would have said anything to stop me, to cast doubt in my mind, even for just a moment.

Then why did I react like he was right?

I couldn't get it out of my head. I had replayed it over and over, his words, his laugh. It was frustrating and beginning to be a nuisance.

I was standing in front of Diego Rivera's newly revealed Detroit Industry murals at the Detroit Institute of Arts. The murals were in an open courtyard. I jumped to the top of the building and when I reached the center, I gracefully descended to the garden.

I looked to the life that teemed within the people and the scenes of the assembly lines, the movement they portrayed. I was envious that I'd never feel the sweat on my brow after a hard day's work, envious that they were working to support themselves and their families. I was too selfish for that. I couldn't support anyone. I had let down the two people who really love me in this world. I lost the opportunity to love.

The murals, I noticed, also had interrelated themes of the biological and manmade, Rivera represented every race in harmony with each other. Where did I fit in this interpretation? I used to be a biological being, but I was also manmade—I was a creation. And I didn't fit into the ideals cast about the people of the world. My face was paler than the white man; I wasn't a part of him any longer. I was something entirely different. Did I belong anywhere? Was there anyone else who could accept me?

Carlisle. Esme.

It was much easier to believe that I was the monster and that was the mask I wore. But under it was another mask; I didn't think I'd ever finish taking off the masks.

_________________

The Detroit Institute of Arts didn't give the distraction for which I had hoped.

I spent many days wandering around aimlessly. I took in the culture around me; I visited Black Bottom and Paradise Valley. These neighborhoods suffered immensely from the Great Depression, but their jazz clubs still operated. I didn't care much for jazz, but when seeing a man like Duke Ellington play, there was no question that I was in the presence of greatness.

Although it was mid-January and the skies were usually overcast at this time, there were still the few sunny days of which I had to be cautious. I hid out at the Michigan Central Station. It was the main artery of the railways in Michigan.

I took a bench and began to people watch. I read their thoughts as they passed through the station, coming and going.

The thoughts of one man stuck out and penetrated my mind, but I was too late. He was running away from California. He had killed for personal gratification, repeatedly—a serial killer. I was too lost in my own thoughts to take action against him before he began to explore his hedonistic pleasures in Detroit.

I decided to pay better attention to the thoughts of those getting off the trains; I wanted to find more people who were escaping past lives only to reassert themselves in Detroit. I had liked Detroit, I wanted to protect it.

It took about half of a day to encounter another man who was fleeing justice.

He was a man of about 40, who recently left his job as a police officer in Florida. He was being convicted of two murders, both young girls he had abused and killed. In actuality though, he had killed nearly thirty, but the only evidence the court had was for the two most recent.

Upon search and seizure of his home, they found the diaries, jewelry and the teeth of the girls. They even found two decomposing bodies still tied to trees in the woods that backed up to his house.

I couldn't stand to be in this man's mind any longer. I knew what I had to do.

_I need a taxi. _He thought as he reached the curb.

I walked up to him, "Need a taxi, sir?"

"Yeah, actually I do."

"Follow me. I'm parked just on the other side of the building here."

I had tuned out his thoughts. He was a horribly wretched person and he disturbed me.

We had reached the side of the station and in the cover that was the night, I sunk my teeth into him. I enjoyed the brief moments of peace I felt as his the blood I so deeply desired swarmed into my mouth and down my throat. There were no other thoughts in my head, only his the thick blood, my ambrosia, my nectar.

When I finished, I lifted his body and carried it around to the freight trains. I threw the body into an empty car and walked away. His body wouldn't be found until he reached the next city, if then. It was more likely that the car would be filled with coal or rubber and the body would be buried, unnoticed.

I spent nearly two entire months in the train station. I had to be cautious of the police who thought I was homeless—which I was—and wanted to kick me out. I would buy train tickets and pretend to board the train and just wander around the city until my train was supposed to return. I took on the role of a traveling businessman.

The days that I spent in the stations were spent studying its architecture; it was something that Esme would have truly adored. The interior was inspired by the ancient Roman Baths; it was adorned with Doric columns and arcades that stretched the entire length of the building and had barrel vaulted ceilings. The exterior was more baroque in its influence; the same Doric columns were paired together to each side of an arch that was crowned with broken pediments.

The building was marvelous.

I was sorry I had to leave. I would no longer be the dark defender of Detroit. But, spring was approaching and the days were getting longer and the sunny afternoons grew in number.

I bought a ticket on the train that was departing soonest and head out of town—not unlike the four victims I sent out before they were even able to set foot into the city.

______________

I spent many more months riding trains. Once I reached a destination, I took the opportunity to hunt, returned to the station, bought another ticket and left.

My destinations didn't matter to me. I was lost in the abyss of self-depreciation and unhappiness; locations had no effect on depression—there was no hiding from it. I was just a soulless creature riding the rails.

I had to admit to myself how lax I was getting with my victims. My path ceased to be one of vengeance, just the desire to quench my thirst. But it was never ending. It was an addiction I couldn't get away from.

I needed a change of scenery. I stepped off the train with no intentions of returning.

I was a little surprised when I realized I was in Denver, Colorado. Fortunately, I left the trains at night, so the sunlight would play no part in my quest to be inconspicuous. I would have to be careful though, in the daytime.

Staying in the city meant that there were more people that I constantly had to be on the lookout for, listening, pretending. I had grown to hate the masks I wore and wanted little to do with them as possible, so I left the city on a rural road heading west.

I didn't get very far at all when I heard a muffled cry. Strange, I thought, to hear such a cry at this time of night on a road leaving the city—but, perhaps, not so strange. I approached with apprehension as I found a woman bound and gagged, raped on the road side.

She was laying in the dirt in the fetal position. Tears were streaming down her cheeks as she struggled to breathe through her nose that was broken, bleeding. I wouldn't be able to stay long to help her, the smell of her blood was potent, but there was a more pressing matter. I needed to find who had done this to her. I searched her thoughts and found the face of the man.

Before I could go find this man, I had to play another role, albeit briefly. I held my breath and approached the woman slowly.

_No, No, NO!_ Her thoughts cried, thinking that any man who found her now would force his way on to her and leave her. _Stay away from me!_ Dictating the simple words were stifled by her own panties that had been stuffed in her mouth.

I assumed the role of being sincere; that mask wouldn't be as painful to wear, perhaps painful to take off. I wouldn't hurt this helpless woman. It was absolutely sickening.

"Shh…I won't hurt you. I would like to untie your hands. Will you please nod your head so I know that it's okay that I come closer?"

She was trying to get her breath and her erratic heartbeat under control. She was experiencing such shock, indignity, and ultimately, terror. After a moment, she was able to nod.

I approached her, still slowly, even though she had granted me permission to assist her. I wanted to calm her. "My name is Edward," I said.

_Edward_. She thought my name with reverence.

I lowered down onto my knees to untie her hands. They were clasped behind her back with a brown leather belt, not her own. I freed her hands to allow her to take the gag from her mouth.

I struggled being so close to her with open wounds. I fought so hard, clinging onto every ounce of self control that Carlisle had impressed upon me. I thought of him continuously during the interchange. My mind would not allow the monster to take over.

She still shied away from me and drew her knees to her chest, locking her arms around them. I thought it was understandable; not only was I a natural threat to her but with what she just experienced, I couldn't imagine she'd want to be near anyone.

She was wearing a cotton summer dress with a delicate floral pattern; the dress was stained with mud, sweat and blood. I hadn't noticed immediately, but there was blood on the inside of her thighs, flowing not in the common womanly way; the man had been rough with her, too rough. I thought of the pain she must be in. How much did it match my pain to be near her? But, this woman needed help. Could I really help her and endure the pain of the proximity of her blood flowing out of her body?

I must. I couldn't leave this woman helpless and broken, with no one to protect her.

"We're not far from the city. If you let me, I'll carry you to the police and you can tell them what happened." I told her, doing my best to make her aware that I wouldn't harm her.

Again, with no words, although the gagged had been removed, she permitted me to pick her up.

Her thoughts were replaying the memory of the past 30 minutes. To think, I was only minutes away from catching the sadist who did this to her. I could find him later, tomorrow.

I saw in her mind that she knew the man who did this to her—James Freemont. A name and a face, this was going to be simple for me. They were riding together in his car when he stopped. He tried to seduce her but was unsuccessful. However, he forced his way onto her anyway.

He just wanted the power of having a woman submit to him. He had his way with her then tossed her from the vehicle with no care for her wounds or her bondage.

She noticed immediately how cold my touch was, but was comforted by the coolness. A swell of pride ran through my body.

Is this how Carlisle felt?

I was finally looking at someone who I could help, someone who I could avenge. I had known that I was stopping killers before they attacked again, but their potential victims were always faceless. And yet, in my arms was someone I was protecting—saving. Carlisle would be proud. But, I also knew he wouldn't forgive me for killing her attacker. This was the only way I could try and ease my conscience, though.

My thoughts over powered what I heard coming from her. I would need to come up with an explanation of why I wouldn't stay with her at the police station; I needed her to lie for me.

I also needed to speak with her, but it was getting so uncomfortable going without oxygen for so long. I battled the two desires of breathing in the air that I knew would be saturated with the aroma of her blood and the desire to keep her alive. Somehow, the latter prevailed.

"Do you—"

"You can take me to my sister's house. I can tell you exactly how to get there." She interrupted me. I guess if I had been listening to her thoughts even acutely, I would have heard a similar struggle in her mind.

She didn't want to go to the police, she'd rather this remain a secret and never see my face again. I would always serve as a constant reminder of the night. The second part was easier to agree to—I couldn't have friendships with humans anyhow. But, her resistance to not go to the police concerned me. In most cases, women never wanted to report these kinds of situations out of fear and embarrassment.

"It's not your fault." I continued, "The police can help you." Why was I trying to get her to go to the police? It only made it easier for me that she wanted to go to her sister's instead. She was already willing to lie. There was no need for me to attempt to brainwash her into fabricating a story on top of the trauma she had experienced.

"No. My sister's will be just fine." She was firm.

She saved me and I nodded.

We continued in silent stride for another ten minutes. I fought hard against the instinct of breathing.

I supposed that I was lucky that I had hunted just the previous night. It got difficult to ride in train cabins with other humans in such close quarters that I often justified myself in hunting more often—which could actually have been a sign of the monster growing inside of me. I didn't need the rails; I didn't need their blood, but being lost in the abyss made it easy for me to tend to the monster.

"This is it," she said.

I set her down gently. She looked into my eyes and with perfect manners, gave me a curtsey. I bowed my head in return. She turned and entered her sister's home.

I waited until the door shut behind her. Then I ran. I ran as fast as I could, as far as I could. I ran in the same direction I brought her, leaving her scent as far behind me as possible. I ran away from Colorado and the responsibility of avenging her. I ran into the wilderness and clenched my teeth onto the first animal I had seen. I ran, wondering if I could ever stop running.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Mature audiences only. Violent and graphic scenes. **

**Reviews appreciated.**

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme belong to SM; the victims are mine (and Edward's too, I suppose).**

* * *

North America seemed large to most. For me, I was confined in a cage, restricted by the thirst I couldn't escape. I traveled to the northern most parts of the continent that were populated through the corners of America and into Mexico, El Salvador, Honduras, Panama—anywhere my feet would take me and anywhere my mind would try to find freedom. My route was never a straight path and I crossed the countries' borders several times back and forth. But even North America wasn't large enough for me to lose myself, to hide from the menace I had become. I traveled into South America—Brazil, Chile, Argentina—never far enough to escape the weight of my conscience.

My days were spent being utterly useless. As a vampire should, I hid during the day time and only emerged at night to kill my prey.

I wanted to kill the morning, let it die. Each day the sun rose was a constant reminder of the new beginnings of each human waking. They had the potential to start over, create new lives for themselves, letting the sun awaken their soul to a new life.

The night had much more appeal to me. It was dark, like me; it could be easily imagined into something else; it built fear in people not knowing what lurked in the depths of the shadows.

I had left Carlisle and Esme over three years ago. I missed them immensely.

__________________

I brought myself back to the States, Jackson, Mississippi. I entered the town on a rare occasion: a cloudy day in the south. Although the heat smothered most, I felt no discomfort.

It didn't take long to overhear of someone's plans to kill. This was the south after all and white supremacy was rampant. I hadn't walked past a total of five people before I came to two, who without any scruples of their discussion, spoke of their arrangements for tonight.

"D'you know who they mean, Jack?"

"Them two niggers 'cross the street. "

I stopped listening and turned my attention to the men of whom they were speaking about. Neither of them looked offending in the slightest. They were mostly scared just like every other black man in the South at this time; but stuck with nowhere else to go, no way to get there.

I turned, pretending to look into the shop's window analyzing the stock, while I continued to listen to the conspirator's conversation.

"S'posed to happen tonight. Right 'round that maple tree where we got ridda that one who looked at John's woman."

I saw the image of the tree he was talking about in his mind. It was in an open field with woods to the west—an easy get away for me. Two nooses hung from a branch that jutted from the tree at a perpendicular angle. What happened to the man who looked at John's woman, I wasn't expecting. I had immediately thought of the old standby of lynching—the most common practice used for white dominance. But the man was chained by his ankles to the back of a car; he was dragged for over three miles, tearing apart his body. The ride ended when he was decapitated by a storm drain on the side of the road. He left a trail of blood.

The images left uncertainty in my mind, which would happen? I would have to change it. Of course, I would still have to think about the safety of the two men they planned on killing. I couldn't simply kill the two men to the left of me, someone else would just turn up for the black men—there was always someone else to finish the job. It would have to wait. I'd have to let Jack think that his plans were going to happen. Let Jack bring the men to the maple, but I'd be waiting for them. I'd bring down the swift hand of justice to them. They wouldn't get away. I could give the innocent men money and tell them to run north—things were just a little better there.

I set off to follow the black men who were supposed to be killed tonight. I'd have to make sure that they were alone. If not, I'd have to plan something for their families—I wouldn't want them to be collateral damage in the wake of Jack and his pal.

The two black men's names I had learned were Paul and Arthur. They were brothers. It was obvious in their faces. Both men had the same dark chocolate hue to their skin, the shape of their eyes and mouths were the same, as well as their hairline. Paul was taller and older than Arthur but Arthur had a quicker mind.

"Look, I know they comin' for us. We need to be sure that Loraine and Molly get to momma's house."

When Arthur said their names, their faces popped into his mind. A mother and daughter it looked like, although I couldn't differentiate between Loraine and Molly in his head—but I knew that the woman was Arthur's wife. Paul's only family was Arthur.

It was a mixture of jealousy and fear that I felt should I never have a family the way Arthur did. I was envious of him. I frequently saw couples together on the streets and sometimes they really liked each other. Other times, they hated the idea of being alone more than they hated their partner. Less often was true love, a real bond that was shared between the couple—Arthur had that, I would never.

I needed to focus.

I spent the first hours of the day following them. They were good souls, I was happy that I could provide them some safety, but annoyed that I couldn't ease their fears. Once Arthur and Paul were home, I left them to go back to Jack and his friend. I needed to make sure their plans were still solid.

I jetted across town and in a matter of minutes found Jack. In actuality, it wasn't that hard to find them—they hadn't moved from where I left them a few hours ago.

The shop they sat in front of Jack owned. He didn't do much work there, only bookkeeping. His days were spent out on the sidewalk greeting people as they entered his convenience store, when the shop closed, he was the one who counted the drawers—he didn't trust anyone. Then by six o'clock, he was home with his family. At night, he was essential in the role of domestic terrorism—beating and lynching black men and women.

It was torture being inside this man's mind. He had absolutely no compassion for the black race—although he used a much more derogatory word for them. The black community knew to stay away from his store and even when they passed on the other side of the street, he still gave them contemptuous glares and damning thoughts.

He was one who was overruled by fear. His hate stemmed from that. Jack had a perception that his safety could be infringed upon by, as he thought, less superior races. He feared that whites would lose their assumed role of dominance in society and sought with every ounce he could to deny the rights of the black community.

Every so often, his thoughts flared up in me an anger I fought so hard to control. I was becoming satisfied with the tenor of his thoughts as I knew that he wouldn't have them much longer. The truly vile things he was thinking would cease to exist along with him.

I had perched myself on top of the bank next to Jack's store. I could hear perfectly as I listened and watched. It was Jack's friend who spoke first.

"Mark and Evan comin' too?"

"Yeah, Don, it's the usual." Jack was annoyed that Don didn't know who the usual was and his lack of experience.

"What time?"

"The usual, I said." His temper was growing.

"But I don't know when that is."

"Jesus, Don. We'll be by your house at eleven. Can you handle that?"

"Yeesh. Yeah, man, I got it. No need to get testy, you know I ain't been 'round these things much,"

"Yeah, yeah."

Don had actually moved to Jackson to marry his wife. I almost felt bad that I would be leaving behind at least two widows—I didn't know about Mark or Evan—but these women deserved better than this scum. Before meeting Jack, Don was mostly a spectator who didn't commit race crimes, but didn't do anything to stop them either. And, here he was, best friends with Jack, plotting a lynching. Don's soul grew just as dark as he allowed his conscience to be dominated by the fear that overtook Jack. And, rather quickly, Don lost hold of any righteousness he had left.

Nighttime began to fall quickly. Jack returned to his wife, as did Don. When they left the store front, I went back to Arthur and Paul.

Their fear was growing. They didn't know when Jack and Don would be coming around for them. Tonight, tomorrow, a week? Loraine and Molly hadn't left the house yet, so I began to make plans of my own for them.

I couldn't leave them home; there would be no time to bring back her husband and brother-in-law before giving them the opportunity to flee. Would she come with me willingly? I sighed. No, I didn't think she would. I supposed that it made her smart that she wouldn't leave the house so late at night, but it also made her the victim of fear, and it made my job a lot harder. I would have to abduct the woman and child to bring them near the maple after Arthur and Paul.


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Mature audiences only. Violent and graphic scenes. **

**Reviews appreciated.**

**Edward, Carlisle, and Esme belong to SM; the victims are mine (and Edward's too, I suppose).**

* * *

I waited patiently for Jack and his friends to arrive.

Their car was idling in front of Arthur's house as they walked up the short lawn picked up rocks and threw them through the windows of the house.

That's when the screams started. I hear Loraine and Molly cry out in fear and it wrenched at my gut. I knew in just a few more minutes, I would be coming in after them. I don't know how I could deal with the fear I would be instilling in them. But, I turned my focus back to the front lawn.

Evan held a shotgun. I knew they had no intentions of using it to kill either man—that would be too quick; it was merely a scare tactic. He cocked the gun and fired into the air. The sound was deafening.

Jack was hollering "You better get yo black asses out here before I hafta come in there after y'all."

And so they came. Fear was streaked across their faces as they walked into the fray. Evan came up to them and hit them in the back of the head with the butt of the shotgun. Both collapsed to the ground, still conscious. Don and Mark hog tied them and threw them into the back of the truck.

They drove away.

Then it was my turn.

I forced myself into their house noisily so they would hear me coming. Their heartbeats were jumping much faster than I would have thought possible. I found them together in the child's bedroom.

They screamed at me when I entered the bedroom and recoiled together inching themselves as far away from me as possible.

"Stay away from her!" _Molly_ she cried. Loraine was trying to protect her daughter. They didn't understand that I was trying to protect them, too.

There was no escape for them though. I was quick to grab two pair of socks from the dresser and stuffed them into their mouths and they sobbed. They feebly attempted to hold onto each other, but I forced them apart and took a blanket from the bed and ripped it into strips to create ropes to hold their hands and ankles together.

_Don't hurt her. _Please_, leave her alone. She's just a child._

The entire time, I was struggling with my inner monster. Was this really necessary? Did I have to play the role of such a hideous man so effectively? Could I stop now and try to explain to them what I was really trying to do?

No. No. I couldn't. There was no time. I was doing this for them—for their safety. As my guilt grew and my conscience became heavy with my actions, my hate was growing. I hated myself and I hated Jack and his friends for doing this to their family, for making me do this too. I was becoming one of them, but I was not racially motivated. The lines were blurring. Where was right and wrong?

I couldn't bear to listen to their thoughts. I blocked them out entirely. My last action before leaving the house was blindfolding them—I had to protect their minds from the images they would see.

Their muffled cries were like daggers into my gut. If only they could know my true intentions!

I tossed them onto my back and began to run. I knew they would be confused by the motions but I needed to arrive to the maple tree before Jack. It was a race against time but the prizes were wholly different. Even if I saved lives tonight, I'd be killing others. I had already struck fear so deeply into the hearts of two defenseless women; how could I be considered the victor in this race under any circumstance?

I _did_ arrive to the clearing just before Jack. I couldn't let them see I was here. I had to hide Loraine and Molly where no one would see them or hear them. I took them to the forest that was to the west of the maple and sat them down at the base of an ash tree and bound them to it. I wanted to plead with them to forgive me. But I left them with a bag at their feet.

I arrived back to the clearing in the same moments that they were pulling Arthur and Paul from the truck. Don and Mark had nooses ready to slide over their heads, they were laughing and excited at the murders they were about to commit. Their elation would come to an end; I approached quickly before they had the opportunity to bring the nooses any closer to Arthur and Paul.

I advanced quicker than I normally I would have but the hatred towards these men coursed through my body, bringing it to life in an entirely new, morbid way. They changed me into more of a monster than I ever thought possible for myself. I needed to kill them. This had become my own vengeance too, to rectify the demon inside me that they brought to life. It had almost become a matter of killing in cold blood.

The first thing I did was disable their car, the only effort it took was the control to not kill the men first. They would not get away from me. Even if they ran, they were no match for me.

"Hey!" One of them shouted, and he was the first. My mind wasn't even interested by the cascading flow of blood into my mouth; I was relieved to be killing this man. I wanted him dead.

I scarcely paid attention to the others around me until one tried tackling me from the side as I stood with my mouth latched to the throat of his friend. His attempt at stopping me broke his shoulder. He was down on the ground as he thrashed in agony. I let him stay there; I let him suffer through the throes.

I released the freshly drained corpse from my grasps and I turned. Evan was facing me with his shotgun. His thoughts were incoherent. But they didn't matter to me, nor did he. I lashed the gun from his hands effortlessly and I pounced on his jugular. That would be the quickest route to drain him of his blood. There was a feeling of vindictiveness that washed over me yet again and I relished in the feeling. It didn't matter that the monster inside me was getting what it wanted at such primitive and primal levels completely overshadowing my conscience. I was in the moment killing this soulless creature.

Having two of them killed and one already incapacitated on the floor, I turned my focus to the last one standing: Jack.

Now he truly knew what fear was. There was no reason to fear the men he had set out to kill tonight. He had only need to fear me. And what a menace I was!

I wanted to inflict onto Jack the terror and agony he inflicted on so many others. His thoughts were just as jumbled as Evan's, but I didn't care what he was thinking or what he had to say. I would make this painful for him. That's when the venom started to flow in my mouth.

I reacted impulsively. I bit, and merely bit, Jack in four different places: his left wrist, the inside of both his elbows and his jugular. I let his heart do the work of pumping the venom through his body letting it burn him from the inside out, torturing him while I turned my focus to the man with the broken shoulder—Don, it seemed.

I stopped Don's pain—I stopped his life. His blood had been pooling into the wound at his shoulder so that's where I had attached myself. The blood nearly dripped from my mouth with the force that it flowed from him. But I didn't let a drop spill. Don's heart fluttered one last beat and his body went limp.

_It burns, it burns. _It did burn, I knew that. I would only allow it to torment him for a few more moments. _Make it stop. Kill me._

I came to a halt. My feelings caught me off guard when he thought that. Could I give this man what he wanted? I wanted him dead, but now that he welcomed it, I felt differently. I wanted to let him endure the pain.

I had to, I had to kill him. I couldn't create another villain like myself—much worse than myself, rather.

His pain was nowhere near subsiding and I was enjoying each and every moment of his suffering. I had become the bringer of pain and death, in that order.

I lifted his right wrist to my mouth; I wanted this to last, the jugular vein would end it too quickly and I needed him to suffer more. I affixed myself to the arteries in his wrist which were enough to keep the constant flow of his blood into my mouth; it soaked without fuss into the not-so-parched coral of my tongue. My venom was nearly tasteless and it saturated every ounce of his blood, it never ran clean. I was pleased with myself that I caused him that much pain.

Then it was over.

I paused. It took me a moment to regain any composure and find a single thread of humanity still inside me. The realization of what I had just done washed through my body and haunted me—I had needlessly tortured a man who I knew in the depths of my soul would die anyway. I didn't need to make it so painful for him—it had become my own sadistic pleasure that desired his pain. The wonton ardor that I never thought I'd feel.

I did become as ruthless as my victims. I shuddered but I knew what I had to do next, where my next move would be.

I turned to Jeffery and Paul. They were lying on their bellies, still hog tied, and only had visual access to the scene through their peripheries. I slowly walked towards them.

_Stay away from me, man. Stay the fuck back._

It was disappointing that they didn't realize I had done this for them. I left behind every righteous thought to get them to safety. Was it worth it?

I didn't say a word to them. I just untied their knots and stood back. But they didn't run.

"Loraine and Molly are just inside the forest, I'm sorry for what I did to them," I said to Jeffery, not meeting his eyes.

"What did you do to them? You sick fuck, if you did anything to them—"

"No, they're fine, just scared. I can't bear to explain it, but know that I did it all for you. I was just trying to help." I was buried in a world of sorrow. I realized how I had also, in the same evening as killing four men and torturing one, that I also tortured a woman and child. Would they ever be able to sleep a peaceful night after experiencing what I did to them?

I don't think I could ever account for what I did. "I left a bag with them. Everything you need is in there. Go north and find work, then send for your mother to join you."

I didn't stay to listen to their bewilderment. In the three years I was gone from Carlisle and Esme, I was growing further and further apart from them, both emotionally and physically, it was time I tried to return to them.

I had once thought that Carlisle was wrong, that the lifestyle he chose was wrong, but he wasn't. He was wrong to have so much faith in me. I didn't deserve it. I lost the purity he saw in me all those years ago. I felt a new kind of guilt, I had let Carlisle down—I betrayed him. I could hear in his thoughts how truly genuine his motives were for refusing the blood of humans and I ignored it for my own selfish desires.

I didn't even give him the respect of a proper goodbye. How much he must hate me, the disappointment he must feel. Would they allow me to return to them? Could I ever be the son they thought I would?

_____________

Four days later, I found myself back in Portland. I carried myself through the town, barely ready to see them even though I could feel in my core that their home was a warm and safe place. I was relieved to find them at the same residence.

I didn't make myself known immediately. I spent four more days lingering in the forest outside of their home. I was careful not to get too close, but not far enough that I couldn't hear their thoughts.

I was nervous as to how they would interpret my return. Wouldn't they care how long it's been? Would they realize how many people I must have killed?

It had been so many years that I've lived my yearnings, but in every town it led me through, I saw their faces. The weight of my conscience never left me. Even at my darkest moments, I was weighted down by the depression of what I was doing. I knew Carlisle was right; he was the best father and teacher. If I could have written a letter, I would have tried, with every line, to say that I still remembered their warmth. But I never thought they'd have me. I betrayed them so deeply.

I finally decided it was time to get closer, I could smell their inviting aromas as I approached the home. But, instead of going to the door, I perched myself in a tree, still listening.

_Other sources claim that Columbus lost heart and that the captains of two other ships—_ Carlisle was reading. Was it a new book to his collection? I was curious and wanted to find out what else he had read while I was away.

"_Carlisle,"_ That was Esme, calling his name. I have never heard a more sweet and sincere voice.

"_Yes?"_

"_What are your plans for tomorrow? I was hoping you could come with me to find some new furnishings for Rochester."_

They were moving? Had they moved on from me, too; had they gotten past the pain of losing me, their son? I could only vainly hope they still thought of me that way. But, I supposed that it was fair, them moving on. I wasn't sure I even meant to return to them when I left them three years ago. I was still devastated, though, at the thought of them moving on without me.

"_My plans are to be with you, Esme, always." _He was still just as genuine as I remembered him. _"Come here, please" _he asked in a most sincere tone.

She walked over to him to join him on the couch. She was just as beautiful as ever and I admired her. They sat together, their thoughts and souls attuned to each other, happy and comfortable in silence.

My thoughts had almost reached an envious state, but I didn't hold onto those ill feelings. I was home and with any luck they might possibly be able to forgive me.

_Edward?_

My scent! I had lingered too long without considering their heightened senses as I was lost in my own. I leapt down from the tree reaching the earth soundlessly. I approached the front door as Carlisle opened it. He was still apprehensive to believe I was back, he didn't want to hope. I was furious with myself that I could take that away from him.

"Edward, it is you." He was so relieved.

"Edward!" Esme came running into my arms, embracing me. I buried myself in her hair and though I couldn't cry, my emotions were too powerful for me. I was completely overwhelmed.

_You're home, Edward, you're home. And safe. I was so worried._

She barely released me when Carlisle was there, wanting the same reunion. He hugged me with identical passion as Esme. He was just as happy to see me home.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Shhh." _It's okay, son, you're here—you're home._

Home, I thought, what a beautiful word. How have I evaded this place and this feeling for so long? I truly did lose myself. I even realized how lucky and spoiled I was that they would take me back so willingly. I loved them for that, I was entirely grateful.

I vowed never to let another human take me away from my family, there could be nothing worse than taking me away from them.

They still had room in their hearts for me; and although I didn't deserve it, I would spend the rest of eternity being the son I should have been from the beginning.


End file.
